


The Skin Outside Is Taking You For A Ride

by blarfkey



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chess, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hot underage making out but no underage sex, Lonely rich boy Charles, Long histories of dislike, M/M, Rival Relationship, The Lehnsherr family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/pseuds/blarfkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fights between Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are legendary, and after four years Principal McTaggart is sick of it. After their most recent screaming match in debate club, Principal McTaggart gives Erik and Charles an ultimatum: they must help Raven work on the Senior play and the next fight that breaks out between them will result in expulsion.</p><p>Forced to be civil for the first time in their lives, Erik and Charles  must reconcile their tumultuous rivalry with the new versions of each other they slowly discover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I am a giant sucker for high school rivals-to-lovers and this story idea has been stewing in my head a while. Just to warn you, I've edited it several times, but it is still un-beta-ed. However, I wanted to post it before School starts up and lesson planning sucks away my life again. I'm not super concerned with small spelling mistakes, but if there is anything major, I would appreciate it if someone would point it out in the comments and I'll fix it lickety split!
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> (The title is a song lyric from "Shiny on the Inside" by Leona Naess)

Mr. Kostner leans over his podium, situated exactly in the middle of Charles and Erik. He used to keep the podium in the back of the classroom, but that changed after Charles and Erik first (of many) heated debates.  Now he stands in the middle not to mediate the debate, but to keep his two students from decking each other.

“Mr. Lehnsherr. Mr. Xavier. Your topic is . . .” Mr. Kostner adjusted his glasses, stalling for suspense as he squinted at the index card in his hand, “The Death Penalty – is it a cruel and unusual punishment?”

“Absolutely,” says Charles just as Erik says, “Of course not!”

They eye each other over Mr. Kostner’s podium and Charles can already feel his heart rate spiking, his hands shaky in anticipation.

Mr. Kostner gestures to Charles.  “You may have the first turn, Xavier.”

Charles launches into his spiel immediately, having already researched this and a multitude of other controversial topics in class.

“It’s absolutely cruel and unusual. If we consider those who murder a criminal of the most heinous sort, then how can we as a society allow our government to commit the same crime? It makes us no better than the criminals, and yet we believe that we are morally superior enough to judge and punish the criminal in the first place?

Life imprisonment is a much better alternative. It allows the criminal the opportunity to re-evaluate his or her life and better themselves.”

Erik sneers at him. “ _Better_ themselves? You’re assuming they have the ability to feel remorse. Most of them don’t. They’re not capable of guilt, that’s why they kill in the first place! You really think a serial child rapist is going to consider whatever they did wrong just because you put them in a cell with a bunch of books?

What does that say to the victim’s families? They need justice! How is fair that their loved one has to die, horrifically, but the murderer gets to live out the rest of his or her life with free food, shelter and entertainment – _paid for by the victim’s families’ tax dollars_ on the off chance that they might feel bad?”

Charles crosses his arms, glaring at Erik.

 “Who is the government to judge who deserve what punishment? Who is you or me or anyone else to judge such a thing? No one is perfect. He who is without sin shall cast the first stone.”

Erik cocks his head back and gives a sharp, bitter laugh. “We really want to bring religion into this? Do you know how many passages I could quote to you about the wrath of God and the fire he rains upon his enemies?  Does the murder of first born children ring any bells?”

“An eye for an eye mentality only perpetuates the circle of violence! If we really wanted to be fair to the victim’s families, wouldn’t we want to work to prevent this kind of thing happening again?”

“The fear the death penalty is generally a great deterrent to further crimes! If you think a psychopath is going to magically renounce his ways because you were nice to him, then you’re nothing more than a naive idiot who’s part of the problem!”

“And if you support the death penalty, that makes you just as much a murderer than an actual murderer!”

At the point they’ve each stalked away from their respective podiums and stand only inches apart. Koster and his podium could might as well been made of tracing paper for all the good it’s kept him and Erik apart. Erik looms over him, eyes burning like magnesium fire, the scent of his spicy cologne tickling Charles’ nose and his blood sings.

He loves the rage only Erik can inspire; loves the power it gives him. In a home life where Charles must always hide his true feelings under a mask of affability, the ability to lose control like this feels almost like a gift.

Of course, if Erik knew how much Charles needed this outlet, he would probably transfer out of the class out of spite.

“Boys, boys. Enough!” Kostner forcibly steps in between them. “I admire your passion, I really do, but you can’t lose control like this! Every day you’re at each other’s throats! Why don’t the two of you cool off in the office.”

He jerks a finger at the door. Charles and Erik exchange poisonous glares while they storm out of the room. Their argument follows, carried on in harsh whispers as they walk past closed classrooms, and finished in exchanges of glares and huffy silences as they wait for Ms. McTaggert to look up from her computer.

“Well, boys. Color me impressed. We’ve only been in school three weeks and already you’ve been sent down for screaming at each other in class.” She turns around in her desk chair. “You guys are seniors. Hasn’t this gotten old yet?”

“Some people don’t learn from their mistakes,” says Erik, side eyeing Charles.

McTaggart pins him with a stare so withering that Erik drops his gaze. “No. They certainly do not.”

“Forgive me if I seem disrespectful,” Charles begins, keeping a cautious eye on McTaggart’s expression, “but wouldn’t it be more prudent if we weren’t scheduled to have the same classes each year?”

Or the same lockers, as their miserable freshmen year testified. Erik perks up beside him, obviously agreeing with Charles’ sentiment (the only thing they can agree on, really) but not ready to risk voicing this aloud to McTaggart.

“It might be, but that’s not how the real world works, Mr. Xavier. You don’t get to avoid people just because you don’t like them and you certainly don’t get into screaming matches with them. Can you imagine what I would be like if I didn’t have to keep my professionalism in the face every cocky teenager who thinks they can argue their way out of a suspension?”

“Terrifying, I suspect,” Charles says, but after nearly four years, her expression doesn’t soften the way it used to when he flattered her.

Erik rolls his eyes and Charles ignores him.

“Besides, we don’t have enough teachers to keep you two apart forever,” adds McTaggart, taking her glasses off. “It’s clear that nothing short of expulsion has worked to keep the two of you controlled.”

Ice drops suddenly into the pit of his stomach.

“So I’m assigning the two of you to work stage crew for the senior play this semester. I believe this year your sister, Raven, is the stage manager so the two of you will answer to her and she will keep me updated on your progress.”

“ _What_?” Erik yelps. “But we have Debate Team after school. We can’t do both!”

“No, you can’t. You’re suspended off the team this semester.”

“That’s not fair!”

“What’s not _fair_ , Mr. Lehnsherr, is Mr. Kostner trying to prepare his team for nationals with two ticking time bombs who like to go off on each other at the slightest provocation,” McTaggart snaps. “What’s not _fair_ is the abuse the two of you reap on each other rather than try to work out your differences or, at the very least, _control your temper_.

“You have this entire semester to prove to me that you can work together in close, and often stressful, quarters, and produce something admirable. You pull that off, you’re back on the team and off parole, so to speak, next semester.”

 She leans forward across the desk and pins the two of them in a rather fearsome gaze. “If the two of you get into another spat like this, in any class, over any reason, then I will be shipping you both off to alternative school. And believe me, Mr. Lehnsherr, I have never lost an expulsion hearing. Ever.”

This is quite possibly the most terrifying moment of Charles’ life. Even Erik looks as if all the blood has dropped from his face and he never shows fear in the face of authority figures.

“Yes Ma’am,” Erik says, as if the words taste like poison in his mouth.

Charles echoes the sentiment, but with quite a bit more respect. Despite Erik’s insistence, it’s never a bad idea to err on the side of charming, especially when it comes to women in power.

“Good. Well, I’m glad we all understand each other.” McTaggart slips back on her glasses and makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Alright, you two. Back to class. The secretary will give you your hall passes.”

They leave the office in stunned silence, clutching their hall passes in clenched fists.

“That was . . .unexpected,” says Charles because the silence is unbearable, really.

“Don’t,” says Erik through clenched teeth.

“Don’t what? I was just saying – ”

“Exactly. Don’t talk.” The muscle in Erik’s jaw is jumping so Charles decides not to push it (for once).

It’s going to be a long semester.

 

The Christmas play is “The Wizard of Oz”. Which of course there is because Raven has watched that movie like clockwork every six months or so since she was seven years old, according to her mother. And because Charles has been a regular fixture of her house since he was twelve, he has also seen the movie entirely too many times.

“That doesn’t make any _sense_ ,” Erik says. “There is nothing Christmas-y about that play.”

“Who gives a shit?” says Raven, folding her arms. “No one goes to these things anyway except the parents. I’ve always wanted to do the Wizard of Oz. You keep mouthing off to me, Lehnsherr, and I’ll make you be Toto.”

“You couldn’t.” Erik crosses his arms and tries to use his looming height over Raven, who only comes to his shoulder.

“I absolutely could. I’m not the one in the doghouse with McTaggart,” she retorts.

“We are at your service,” says Charles, dropping into a bow because exaggeration of his manners always makes Raven laugh and he’s not getting stuck with the terrifying fruits of Raven’s mercy.

Raven drops a copy the script in his lap. “I want this separated by scene and color-coded with tabs according to who’s got a speaking role on that page. And it needs to be three hole punched and in a binder. You’re not an asshole and you’ve got a good memory, so you’ll be helping everyone get off book.”

It doesn’t sound too horrible, actually, and thanks to Raven he’s practically got it memorized already. She puts Erik on carpenter duty, helping Sean and Alex design and build the set pieces, because he’s “good with his hands”. She delivers this line with a smirk that makes Charles proud.

 

It wouldn’t matter if Charles and Erik never had to set eyes on each other in any class. They can’t avoid each other because they have all the same friends. How this was managed, despite their very different and conflicting personalities, remains one of the universe’s great jokes.

As it turns out, most of their mutual friends are also in the play. Emma’s casted as a very chilling Glenda, Hank is the Cowardly Lion with Scott as the Tin-Man, Jean makes an adorable Dorothy, and Raven doubles as director and hamming it up as the Wicked Witch, with Kurt as her head henchman.

Raven, bless her, has given Charles and Erik jobs that kept them mostly out of the other’s way. For the first few weeks they barely even saw each other; Charles stayed in the drama classroom practicing lines with the cast while Erik built set pieces with Sean and Alex on the stage. And when they do cross paths they don’t spare each other more than a polite nod.

It’s the most peace either one of them has seen in years.

They don’t really know what to do with that, as it turns out.

 

Sean takes one look at the dead cat he and Charles are supposed to dissect and immediately presses a fist to his mouth.

“No,” says Charles sharply. “Don’t you dare.”

Sean furiously shakes his head, but his stomach starts quivering and then he’s running out of the room. The faint echo of splatter lets everyone know that he didn’t quite make it to the bathroom. Charles closes his eyes, trying to calm his own stomach down because he hates the sound of vomit.

Then he sets to work once it’s clear that Sean isn’t returning any time soon.

Even though Charles considers himself intelligent and talented enough in this field to do the entire dissection himself, the assignment is really a two-person job. For example, it’s hard to hold open the chest cavity while simultaneously sketching and noting down the placement of the various organs inside. He valiantly attempts this by trying to use his elbow to hold down part of the cat while trying to draw with that same arm. He can’t hold his grip though, and the cat ricochets off the table.

Charles bites down a scream.

Someone beside him laughs. It’s Erik and he bends down to pick the cat off the floor and place it on the table.

“Thank you?” Charles says, eyeing him warily. “What do you want?”

“I noticed you don’t have a partner,” says Erik.

Charles raises his eyebrows. “And why does that matter to you?”

Erik jerks his thumb at Emma, who sits at the table and picks at her nails, the diagram sheet in front of her, still blank. “Because I also don’t have a partner. Technically speaking.”

“You . . .you want to work together?”

Did he fall asleep? Is this an alternate universe?

“I want a decent grade and I’m sure as hell not letting Emma Frost take credit for it, either.”

Charles considers it. On one hand, the more time they spend around each other, the more likely another argument might occur and kick them both out. On the other, Charles really doesn’t want to do this alone and Erik is not lazy or squeamish, not matter what his faults are.

“Alright,” he concedes and he doesn’t imagine the look of relief on Erik’s face.

“Awesome. How far did you get?”

As much as Charles is loathed to admit it, working with Erik turned out to be strangely wonderful. He has a deft hand and sketches the organs and diagrams with both speed and accuracy. Charles finds himself staring in envy at the sway of the pencil and how the images seem to appear under it like magic. Such delicacy doesn’t fit with Erik’s cold, hard demeanor.

“Are you an artist?” he blurts out.

“No,” Erik replies without even looking up.

“You should be.”

The pencil still for a moment. “ . . .Thanks?”

Charles clears his throat, and returns to his half of the assignment. Complimenting _Erik Lehnsherr?_ What has gotten into him?

They work in almost companionable silence for the rest of the period, only speaking to clarify parts of the assignment. Erik helps him clean up the lab space and they hand in their beautifully illustrated and accurately labeled assignment to Mrs. Manis right before the bell rings. Of course, then Erik walks out without another word to him and Charles doesn’t see him for the rest of the day.

For some strange, _insane_ reason, Charles is a little disappointed.

The next Lab Day in Anatomy, Erik silently walks over to the table with Charles, giving him a look that dares Charles to challenge him.

Charles scoots one stool over and says nothing. Afterwards, they are always lab partners and they complete all their assignments efficiently and accurately. They only speak about the assignment at hand and never anything personal and that suits Charles just fine. Erik doesn’t share his enthusiasm for science (even though he’s taking a completely optional course) but he also doesn’t puke or pass out or forget the vocabulary when trying to describe things and he’s a fantastic artist, so Charles won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Mrs. Manis gives them cautious looks every so often and Charles hopes that she is reporting how well he and Erik are getting along to Ms. McTaggart.

Of course, in typical Charles fashion, he thanks Erik for being a competent lab partner by breaking his nose with a basketball three weeks later.

It isn’t exactly intentional. He and Erik got a little carried away during a game of basketball in gym. So many weeks of restrained civility boils over when they go shirts and skins. The game has narrowed down to the two of them, with the rest of their team half-heartedly trying to assist (which is generally what happens in every game Charles and Erik play, same team or not, which is why they had slacked off on such activities recently).

Because of his height, Charles has learned to be vicious on the court and he certainly isn’t going to hold back with Erik. He tears down the court with the ball, dodging the other team with Erik hot on his heels. Any second now, that tall German bastard is going to knock the ball from his hands, a play he does all the time just to piss Charles off. When he gets close enough to the rim, Charles launches up and throws the ball into the hoop.

His elbow rears back and collides with something warm and solid. Someone yells behind him, but right now Charles’ world has narrowed down to the ball in his hands and the rim above him. It’s only when he sees and hears that satisfying _swoop_ of the net does he turn around to see Erik sprawled on the court behind him, hand held up to a bleeding nose.

“Oh my God!” Charles cries. “What happened?”

“You fucking hit me,” snaps Erik.

Countless times Charles imagined driving his fist into Erik’s smug face, and yet the reality of it holds none of the triumph and satisfaction that he dreamed about. Instead, he feels sick. Charles drops to his knees in front of Erik and tries to assess the damage between Erik’s fingers.

“Off to the nurse with you, Lehnsherr,” Coach Howlett yells.

“I’ll take him,” Charles volunteers immediately.

“Why, so you can finish me off when we’re out of earshot?” Erik mutters.

“Don’t be stupid, Erik, I want to make sure you’re alright,” Charles snaps.

He grabs Erik’s arm and hauls him to his feet, who tries pulls himself immediately out of Charles’ grip. But Charles refuses to let go and so they stumble their way out of the gym and into the courtyard while Erik tips his head back, blood covering his mouth and dripping down his chin. Erik is shirtless so Charles pulls his jersey off and hands it to him.

“Don’t tip your head back. You don’t want to swallow all that blood. Take my shirt.”

“But I’ll stain it.”

“I don’t care, I’ll buy another one,” says Charles, waving the shirt impatiently.

Erik gives him that weird look, as if trying to determine what planet Charles is from. Or what ulterior motive Charles has. But he takes the shirt and wipes his face before holding it up to his nose.

“Tip your head down, that way all the blood comes out and not in. You’ll probably puke if you swallow too much of it.”

“Yes _mom_ ,” says Erik with an eye roll.

They fall silent as they cross the courtyard and don’t pass anyone they know in the halls.

 _Thank God_ Charles thinks. The last thing he wants is the rumor that he beat Erik up in gym to get to McTaggart. The nurse’s eyebrows jump up when she sees the pair of them.

“Can’t say I haven’t been waiting on this scene,” she says.

“It was an accident,” Erik says, voice muffled by the shirt. “We were playing basketball.”

“Hmmmm. Well, let’s see what we’ve got here.” The nurse gently tugs the shirt away from Erik’s face and inspects his nose.

“I’d say that’s broken,” she announces after a minute and Charles’ stomach drops. “But you’ll need to go to the doctor to make sure. I can’t do much for you here except give you a wet paper towel to clean up and call your mom.”

The nurse leaves the room for the front office after she hands Erik a damp paper towel. Erik steps up to the sink and carefully wipes the blood from his mouth.

“You don’t have to stay,” Erik says, wiping the tip of his nose and wincing.

“I am so sorry, Erik. I didn’t know you were that close behind me, I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Erik pauses and looks at Charles through the mirror. “It’s okay. I’m sure you’ve been dreaming about this day, but I’m fine.”

Guilt lances through Charles, bringing him close to tears. “Just because you’ve been a thorn in my side for the last few years doesn’t mean I would ever want to hurt you!”

This time Erik turns around looks at him with alarm and concern. “It was a joke, Charles. Chill out, the something similar happened between Alex and Hank, remember?”

“They didn’t break bones, they just raced each other until they both puked.”

The memory brought a faint smile to Erik, followed immediately by another wince of pain.

“Well I’m not pissed off at you. For once. So you can calm down.”

Why this matters, Charles has no idea, but he sighs and releases some of the tension in his shoulders.

“At least let me stay with you until your mother gets here.”

“ . . . Alright.”

They sit together on the bed once Erik is finished, and talk about safe, neutral things, like how stupid the characters in _Romeo and Juliet_ are and how they think Raven’s play will get along. It’s the longest they’ve ever talked without fighting and parts of it definitely feel awkward, especially when they are on the brink of a differing opinion and veer suddenly off topic.

Erik mother picks him up before the end of the period, thanking Charles for his help and promising to wash the shirt.

“You can throw it away,” Charles says, blushing. “Really, it’s fine.”

“Nonsense,” says Mrs. Lehnsherr, her accent still tingeing her words. “I know how to get anything out of anything. And thank you again for helping Erik. Perhaps we will have you over for dinner sometime!”

Erik looks faintly alarmed at the thought.

“That would be lovely,” says Charles. “I’m very flattered, but you don’t have to go through such lengths for me.”

“Look at that! Manners!” Mrs. Lehnsherr exclaims, glaring down at her son. “See how easy that was.”

“Mom,” Erik growls warningly.

“Alright, alright. Lets’ get you to the doctor before I embarrass you further. Have a good afternoon, Charles.”

“You too, Mrs. Lehnsherr.”

He hears Erik’s mother chastise him all the way down the hall and he might have lingered longer than necessary in order to catch all of it.

When Erik returns two days later, his eyes and cheeks are black and blue and his nose is swaddled in bandages. Jokes abound, until Erik tells everyone he snapped the other guy’s arm like a twig and throws Charles a tiny, almost invisible smile.

It does something very strange to Charles’ pulse.

 _I must be coming down with something_.

Working in close quarters, a cold has traveled from one unlucky sap to the next. Perhaps it’s Charles’ turn.

Eventually the truth comes out and Alex comes over to slaps a hand on Charles’ shoulder hard enough to throw him off balance.

“So you just won me like, twenty bucks dude! Why didn’t you fess up earlier?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We all took bets! Like, three years ago, on who would crack first and knock the other out. Everyone pooled on Lehnsherr cause, you know,” Alex shrugs. “But I put my money on you, even though you’re so scrawny. Dude, when you get pissed it’s like your eyes are on fire. I just knew one day your British sensibilities would snap and you’d kill someone.”

While Charles does find Alex’s faith in his vicious nature flattering, he still feels a deep flash of guilt at the sight of Erik’s face.

“I – Alex it wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah, sure.” Alex laughs and gives him a noogie. “We know you wouldn’t brag. Personally I like Lehnsherr’s new look. You should do it more often.”

Charles squirms. Erik rarely ever misses school, even when he has the plague. So the kind of pain that would make him skip two days . . .Charles does like it and he doesn’t want to recreate it.

“It was an accident, dipshit,” comes Erik’s voice behind them. “You know Charles isn’t like that. He’s a gentleman, not an animal.”

Usually when Erik makes cracks at Charles’ wealth, he can’t keep the bitterness from practically dripping in his voice. It’s one of the reasons why he can’t stand Charles. He pulls the wealthy privileged card in almost every debate and argument they have, as if Charles can’t understand pain or suffering because he didn’t grow up poor.

This time there’s something like . . .pride?

Charles must be imagining it. Definitely getting sick.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! If you see any major errors, please feel free to point them out in the comments and I will correct them! Thank you!

Two weeks later Charles wakes up with a killer headache and the feeling that his blood has been replaced with lead. Also the world is simultaneously frigid and sweltering, depending of if his foot sticks out from the blanket.

With October rapidly approaching, Raven has been pushing everyone after school to get all their lines memorized and the set pieces mostly finished because she wants the play technically finished by Thanksgiving break. He can appreciate the logic behind it – the two weeks of class after Thanksgiving break is a flurry of studying for finals and trying to balance that and the play sounds like a recipe for stress induced heart attacks.

Though Raven might not make it to Thanksgiving Break the way she pushes herself, so Charles has been volunteering for more and more tasks to give Raven some rest and now he realizes, through the fog of illness, that he might have overdone it.

He texts Raven that he will miss classes and practice today – Thank God it’s a Friday – and flops back onto to bed. He should probably grab some Tylenol from the medicine cabinet downstairs, but the thought of such a trip is too daunting and he is alone in the house. His mother has gone out of town, visiting friends on the West Coast, and Isobel, their maid, came in and cleaned yesterday and James, their butler, has today off.

_I’ll just sleep it off_ , he thinks, crawling under the covers.

The rest of the day passes in a haze. Charles drifts in and out of consciousness, the pounding in his head relentless. Sometimes he hears things, like the static of a radio, and then later, a strange, ringing song.

And then he hallucinates a familiar voice.

“Charles? Are you still alive?”

Is that . . .that can’t be Erik. Erik doesn’t even know where he lives.

“Fuck, this house is huge. Fucking rich people. Charles!”

If it’s a hallucination, it’s a very vivid, accurate hallucination. Charles wants to voice his location or get out of bed, but the challenge either of those things feels insurmountable.

Eventually Erik barges into his room, a paper sack in his hand, and stares at Charles, who must be an absolute pitiful sight right now. But he’s too sick to even feel embarrassed by it.

“Seriously, are you still alive?”

Charles groans in response, unable to formulate words. He wishes he had telepathy.

A cool hand presses against his forehead, a wonderful balm, before it disappears.

“You’re burning up. Didn’t you take an any medicine?” Erik asks.

Charles shakes his head.

“God, you’re an idiot. Where is it? I’ll get it.”

“Kitchen,” Charles mumbles.

Erik disappears and reappears with the bottle of Tylenol and a large glass of water.

“Sit up. I don’t want you choking. Then Raven will kill me.”

With supreme effort, Charles manages to slowly scoot up to a sitting position. Erik hands him four pills and the water, which Charles gulps down gratefully. It’s like cool rain on a forest fire.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Erik demands. “You can’t be the only one in a house this fucking big.”

Charles nods. “Mom’s in California. Isobel and James have the day off.”

Charles voice comes in a scratchy whisper.

“The day off?”

“They work here.”

“Oh.” Erik looks uncomfortable. Charles knows, in great detail, just how resentful Erik is of his wealth.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Raven sent me. She’s busy with the Emerald City scene, so she can’t come till later. I have soup downstairs that she made me go buy. Do you want some?”

“Yes,” says Charles, suddenly aware of how ravenous he is. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll – I’ll go get that. You stay and – relax.”

 Erik waves his hand vaguely at the bed before disappearing downstairs. As the medicine slowly kicks in, Charles becomes increasingly mortified at the state of his hair and how sour he smells. He tries to comb his hair into some semblance of order and fluffs his pillows up and buttons the top buttons of his pajamas. Then, the most clear-headed he’s been all day, Charles grabs one of the books crowded on his nightstand and reads while he waits.

Erik returns a little while later, slowly balancing a bowl of soup, a sleeve of crackers, and a spoon on a tray. He sets it on Charles’ lap.

“Your kitchen is like something out of Star Trek,” he says. “You know, underneath all that antique wood.”

Charles smiles. “Mrs. Santiago is very picky about her appliances.”

“Who is that?”

“Our cook.”

Erik stares at him. “Wow,” he drawls, long and slow and disdainful. “You can’t even cook for yourself?”

Charles flushes. “I certainly can. Mrs. Santiago has taught me a lot! And my mother hires her, it’s not like I have any control of over it.”

“I know I’ve always hated it when my mother hires me servants.”

“Erik, I don’t have the strength or the patience for this. If you’re going to berate me about my lifestyle _in my home_ , then you can leave. Nobody forced you to come here.”

Erik’s jaw tenses and he looks away. Any moment now he will spat some asinine comment and storm off. Charles concentrates on crumbling his crackers into the soup.

“ . . .sorry,” Erik mutters. “I’ll stop.”

Charles nearly drops his spoon. “ . . .did you just _apologize_ to me?”

“Shut up.” The tips of Erik’s ears are red. “I don’t want to be an asshole to an invalid, you just make it tragically easy.”

“Well, I admire your restraint,” Charles says, offering up a smile. “If you’re hungry or thirsty, you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen. We have mineral water, Sprite, coconut juice . . .”

“Coconut juice?” Erik asks with eyebrows raised.

“It’s for Raven.”

“I think I will.”

Erik leaves and returns with two bottles of Sprite. He hands one to Charles. “My mom it’s good for an uneasy stomach and your sugar is probably down.”

“Thank you.” His fever must be ratcheting up again because Charles’ face feels hot. “Do you play chess?”

To Charles delight, Erik turns out to be brilliant at chess. Erik brings in the chessboard from the library and sets in down by the edge of the bed where Charles can reach the pieces from his position against the pillows. Erik thoroughly trounces him in their first match.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” Charles demands.

Erik leans back in the desk chair he dragged over and puts his arms behind his head. Usually that smug grin makes Charles want to choke him. Now he finds himself grinning in return.

Hell, the man earned the right for some arrogance. For once.

“My grandfather,” says Erik. “He won championships back in Germany.”

“Remarkable! No one’s beaten me in years.”

“Please, you weren’t that hard to beat,” says Erik, but his smile takes the sting out of a statement that would normally incite a caustic retort from Charles.

“My mental faculties are rather impaired at the moment.”

Erik lets out a bark of laughter. “Your mental faculties are impaired? Who even talks like that? You sound so old.”

For some reason, Charles doesn’t feel mocked. Perhaps because Raven has made that exact comment to him so many times. But he also has gotten well acquainted with Erik’s disdain and he doesn’t feel it now.

“I was subjected to rigorous private schooling before I quit.”

“You traded a private school education to go to Westchester High?” Erik asks and Charles winces a bit at the mixture of resentment and astonishment in his tone.

“I was absolutely miserable,” Charles tells him. “Trust me, that school was horrible. You think I’m a pretentious snob, you have no idea the kind of boys I went to school with. And since it was a boarding school, there was no getting away from them. The older boys mercilessly bullied us younger ones and -- ” Charles can’t fight the shudder that runs through him.

“Why didn’t you just go to a different private school?” Erik asks.

“It’s all more of the same. I’m capable of educating myself, it doesn’t really matter where I go. But I wanted to be in a school with . . .normal students.”

A flash of surprise on Erik’s face before he covers it up. “I don’t know if Sean or Raven will ever count as normal, but I hope you got what you wanted.”

Charles gives him a small smile. “I did. Now, do you want to be white or black this time?”

Raven shows up in the middle of their third game, a CVS bag in hand.

“Holy shit, did I just walk into the Twilight Zone?” she asks.

“It’s about fucking time,” Erik says, scooting his chair back abruptly, as if Raven had caught them in a tryst instead of a perfectly companionable game of chess.

“Oh drop the act, Erik,” Raven retorts. “I watched you two for about five minutes before I walked in here. You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah because Charles has to keep his mouth shut in order to concentrate. Also, I keep beating him.”

“Three times so far,” Charles adds.

“Only you would sound happy about that,” Raven says, eyes rolling. “Thanks for covering for me, Erik, but I got it from here. You can skedaddle.”

Erik stands up but his gaze lingers at their half-finished game. He looks torn about leaving it, probably so he can crow about another victory. But Charles feels equal reluctance about leaving their game unfinished.

“Thank you for the soup. And the company,” Charles tells him.

Erik looks uncomfortable. “I was just doing Raven a favor.”

“I appreciate it all the same.”

Erik’s hands clench at his sides. “I – thank you for having me. And for the chess. See you at school.”

With that he leaves the room. Raven and Charles both watch him go.

“That was weird,” she says. “I expected him to throw together some soup and get the hell out.”

“Erik was surprising agreeable.”

“Maybe he’s getting mellow in his old age,” says Raven with a shrug. “Are you done with the soup? I’ll take it downstairs.”

Raven coddles him for the rest of the evening, keeping Charles medicated, hydrated, cleaning the dishes downstairs (what little is left – Erik cleaned up a lot after himself) and cuddling on the couch and watching Netflix. One visit to his home in ninth grade had told her enough about how little of such affection Charles regularly receives and ever since she’s done her damnedest to make up for the lack with a smothering amount of fiercely protective friendship.

 

By Saturday Charles has fully recovered.

Raven has not. She has left several texts in all capital letters condemning him for infesting her with her germs (and doesn’t take kindly to the correction of infesting to infecting. At all). Her parents have confined her to the house, but she still tries to supervise the play via texting and skyping on Charles’ phone. 

“Where the fuck is Erik?” she demands.

 “He said he had a family obligation,” Charles replies.

“Oh. Okay.” Raven accepts this with deceptive calm.

“Is this truly okay or I am going to get an earful later?”

“No, it’s good. Erik helps his grandfather a lot in his shop.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Take me to Sean. I need to see how the poppy field is coming along.”

Raven looks pale and withdrawn, dark circles under her eyes. Her voice is shredded from the coughing and the constant yelling. Guilt sinks like a stone in Charles’ gut, but he doesn’t know what he could do for her. Unlike himself, Raven has family to care for her. She needs rest more than his company, though he’s spoken with her all morning. There’s really nothing more he can do.

And then he drives past the small flower shop.

The sign is weathered and nearly obscured by the large tree growing in the middle of the sidewalk beside it. The front is covered in potted plants and window boxes full of lilies.

A nice bouquet would cheer Raven up. Charles parks in front of the shop and strolls in. Warm sunshine has filtered into the place, illuminating boxes of silk flowers for graveyards on one wall and a glass case of arrangements on the other wall. No one stands beyond the counter and the door behind it is cracked open. Charles peruses the premade arrangements, but they are full of the usual red and white roses and creamy lilies.

Raven likes deep purple and blue, none of which he sees here.

He rings the bell on the counter and looks through a booklet of flowers and prices while he waits.

“Good afternoon,” says a familiar voice. “How can I help – _Charles?_ ”

Charles jerks his gaze from the booklet to see Erik stepping out of the backroom, a green apron tied over his t-shirt and a streak of dirt under his cheekbone.

“Erik? What are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

“This is your grandfather’s shop? It’s adorable!”

Erik stiffens immediately, glaring down at him. “I know work is a foreign concept for you, so if you came here to be a condescending prick, then there’s the door.”

Charles winces. During their many arguments, he’s resorted to a variety of tricks to reaction to Erik’s taunts, condescension over Erik’s ignorance being a favorite, mainly because it guaranteed instantaneous fury and Charles desperately wanted the upper hand back. Now, thinking of the kinds of remarks on Erik’s education and intelligence shames him.

For a child always praised for his maturity, Charles has been absurdly childish.

“I meant it sincerely,” he says. “I’m sorry if it came out wrong.”

For a moment Erik just stares at him, probably looking for an ulterior motive or hint of insincerity.

“Thank you,” he says finally, if a bit stiffly. “Now what are you doing in here?”

“I wanted to get Raven some flowers, since I infested her with my germs”

“You mean infecting, right?” Erik asks with a smirk.

“Those were her words. She did not appreciate it when I explained that distinction.”

“Well that’s because you sound like an asshole every time you correct someone.”

Charles smiles. “I am a product of my environment.”

Erik snorts. “You sure are. Alright, I’m guessing you’ve already looked at the arrangements in the cases?”

“Yes. They’re beautiful,” Charles says hastily, worried that Erik would take rejection for snobbery. “But they don’t feel like Raven, you know?”

“Yeah, they’re generic for a reason. Raven needs something unique.” Erik flips open the booklet and stops at a page of dark orange lilies. “We could pair some of these with . . .” he flips past a few pages, “purple gladiolas. Add in some Irises and day lilies and baby’s breath.” He looks up at Charles. “I take it price isn’t an issue?”

“No,” murmurs Charles, feeling oddly embarrassed.

“Good. It won’t take me long to put this together if you care to wait?”

“That would be great,” says Charles. “Thank you so much.”

Erik waves a hand at Charles as he ducks into the backroom. With the door wide open, Charles can see buckets of fresh flowers and a shelf full of vases and a roughhewn table. He watches Erik inspect the vases with care before plucking a sturdy, wide vase with a blue pattern in the glass. He carries it over to the table and starts picking flowers with care and scrutiny out of the buckets.

Charles watches him with rapt attention. Erik’s hands are as blunt and calloused as his attitude, but he handles the flowers with a deft hand and a delicate touch.  Blossoms are picked with scrutiny, only the brightest and undamaged blooms go into the vase. His face, usually furrowed in some kind of frown (at least around Charles), has relaxed into peaceful focus. He puts together the arrangement with care and precision that speaks to a lot of hours spent in this shop.

In roughly ten minutes, Erik carries out a cloud of irises and lilies, bracketed by long stems of gladiolas.

“That is beautiful, Erik!” Charles gasps. “You’re very talented!”

“Oh, shut up,” mutters Erik, the tips of his ears red. “It’s not rocket science. You just need to know your colors.”

“Well I think it’s brilliant.”

“ . . .thanks.”

Erik rings him up and Charles hands him his card.

“Tell Raven I said it’s been peaceful since she’s been gone and not to hurry back,” he tells Charles.

A few months ago Charles would have been appalled at Erik’s seemingly frank lack of compassion. But after watching him arrange Raven’s bouquet with such thoughtfulness, Charles now realizes that Erik must be teasing, despite the perfect deadpan delivery.

“Hopefully she’ll be asleep when I get there. She was an absolute nightmare on the phone earlier this morning.”

“God speed,” says Erik and he gives Charles a little salute.

 

Raven’s face breaks out into a tired smile as Charles deposits the vase on her nightstand.

“What is this?” she whispers.

“It’s an apology. You sacrificed much to take care of me and disease is how I repay you, apparently.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Honestly it was probably stress more than you that did me in. But thank you. They’re lovely.”

“Erik did the arrangement, actually.”

“ _You_ went to his grandfather’s shop? How did you even know?” Raven’s eyes are wide enough to be comical.

“I didn’t. I went to buy you flowers and Erik was behind the counter. Trust me, it was quite a shock.”

The side of Raven’s mouth quirk up. “He’s full of surprises, isn’t he?”

“He’s not . . .as unpleasant as I thought he would be,” Charles concedes.

Actually, these secret sides to Erik are starting to spark a burning fascination in Charles, but he refuses to confess this to Raven.

 

Between senior class load and the play, Thanksgiving Break hurtles towards them like a runaway freight train. Mother is still vacationing in Bath, kissing Charles goodbye and joking about how much a teenage boy would love to have the house to himself during break and that she would only get in the way of his “memory making.”

Charles contemplates hosting a wild party just to test her, but a lot of his friends have traveled to visit family out of town and out of state (Raven being among them) so he doesn’t bother.

Instead, he gets a head start on of his favorite activity of the season – shopping for all his Secret Santa children. He’s wrangled ten kids this year, ages ranging from barely out of toddler years to only a year younger than himself. List in hand, Charles drives up to the mall two days before Thanksgiving.

Of course it’s a mad house. The Christmas decorations had been put up on the first of the month, barely giving Halloween a chance to breathe, and the place is packed with shoppers hoping to score merchandise before Black Friday clears it all out.

For the last few years, Raven accompanied Charles and helped pick out the toys and clothes, especially for the girls. This year she’s in Montana visiting her uncles dude ranch and getting a well-deserved break from the play, which is probably giving her an ulcer. Even though Charles loves everything about Christmas, he finds that shopping alone puts a damper on his spirit that not even music and decorations call lift. Eventually he takes a seat on one of the side benches, what little bags he’s accumulated scattered around his feet, and tries to find the will go continue.

Perhaps he should have waited until Raven got back, but then he would be sitting in house alone and that’s even worse.

“Charles?”

Erik walks up to him, materializing among the crowd like magic.

“Erik! Hello.”

A smile, wide and bright and easy, spread across Charles’ face.

“Christmas shopping?” Erik asks, gesturing at the bags. Then he squints at one in particular. “Do we know anyone that would need something from Baby Gap? Do you have something to tell the class?”

Charles looks down at the bag of toddler clothes and laughs. “Oh, that. It’s for one of my Secret Santa kids.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a charity. Children who won’t be getting much a Christmas write down their age and gender and what they like and people volunteer to buy presents for them. I’ve got about ten this year and one of them is three years old. The mother requested some warm clothes.”

Erik’s eyebrows jump up. “You’re buying for _ten kids_?”

Charles wonders how to explain this without Erik taking it as a condescending pity from the rich elite to the poor masses.

“It’s really fun, actually, shopping for toys and games, especially for children who aren’t expecting much. I take as many kids as they’ll give me and use my allowance to buy the gifts.”

“So you’re like a pretentious, snobby Santa?” says Erik. “Are you going to slip in volumes of Shakespeare’s sonnets in with the toys?”

And of course, that’s exactly the angle Erik would take. Charles should be used to it by now, but to his surprise, the remark stings and his eyes start to water.

“Oh my God. Charles. It was a joke. I didn’t mean it.” Erik drops an awkward, panicking hand on Charles’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Charles tips his head back, trying to will the tears back. To break down in the middle of the _mall_ , in front of _Erik Lehnsherr_ is so humiliating he wishes he could jump into a black hole.

To make matters worse, Erik sits down beside him on the bench. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Nothing,” says Charles, voice thick. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly _not_ nothing. Do you hate Christmas music this much? Because I share that pain, coincidentally.”

Charles’ lips want to twitch into a smile at the joke and that itself makes him want to cry even more because of all the people in the world to comfort him, all he has left is Erik Lehnsherr, who has made him want to cry in the past for very different reasons.

“Raven usually comes with me but she’s gone this break and I have to go at this alone and I _hate_ it,” he confesses.

“You can’t wait until Raven gets back?” Of course Erik picks now to be perfectly rational.

“I had to get out of my house. It’s too empty. It’s driving me insane.”

Erik says nothing. Charles takes in a deep breath.

“You must thing I’m a deranged loser,” he says ruefully.

“Oh you’re deranged,” agrees Erik. There is a kindness in his eyes that almost burns. “But not about this. Let me call my mom and we’ll hit up the next store.”

He stands up and fishes out an old, outdated iPhone from his pocket and walks off before Charles can say anything. After a few moments he returns, shoving it back into his pocket and picking up a couple of the bags by Charles’ feet.

“You really do not have to do this,” Charles says.

“I want to do this. It sounds fun. Well, shopping for Barbies and onesies doesn’t sound great. Tell me you’ve got a kid who’s somewhat cool?”

Charles fishes out his lists. “Tim is nine years old and likes Marvel and Star Wars. I was thinking of going to the Disney store. Do you want to do that one?”

Erik bows and holds out an arm. “Lead on.”

 

For hours they traverse the entire mall, stopping for a quick bite in the food court (Erik blows the paper from his straw into Charles’ face). Erik carries the lion’s share of the bags despite Charles’ protests. As always with any mention of his wealth, Charles remains wary whenever the cashier announces the totals, which must seem staggering to Erik, as well as the careless way that Charles hands over his card. But Erik seems to relish shopping without a limit, especially when it’s for someone else (to do such a thing for Erik would probably start a war).

It’s well past dark when Charles collapses on a bench for the second time with a mountain of bags, Erik takes the opposite bench.

“You should come over for dinner,” Erik says.

 The offer comes so casually that Charles looks over at Erik in shock.

“I – I couldn’t intrude,” he stutters.

Erik waves this off. “I’ve already cleared it with Mom. She’s been asking about you since you broke my nose.”

Charles flushes and Erik takes his silence for hesitance.

“Come on, we’re both starving and you’re more than welcome.”

“Thank you,” Charles says finally. “I will.”

Erik grins. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

Charles follows Erik’s car into an older, quaint neighborhood of small houses. Giant potted rose bushes mark Erik’s driveway, along with cheerful window boxes of geraniums between each pair of shudders. Charles likes it instantly.

“Home sweet home,” Erik says, the faint embarrassment tinging his ears red. “It’s not, you know, like yours --”

“It’s adorable,” Charles says with fervent sincerity. “I love your rose bushes.”

Judging by the pride that lights up Erik, it’s the right thing to say. “My grandmother started those from clippings and my mother inherited them after she died. They’re over fifty years old.”

“Amazing!”

Inside, Erik’s house is both cozy and immaculate. Charles toes his shoes off at the door with Erik and follows him into the kitchen.

“Hey Mom, I brought Charles,” Erik says.

Mrs. Lehnsherr turns around from unloading the dishwasher and gives Charles a wide smile.

“Hello Charles! It’s about time you came over!” She envelopes Charles into a warm hug. “I hope you like spaghetti.”

“I thought I smelled something divine,” Charles says.

“It’s a secret family recipe, passed down from generations. My best friend taught it to me.” Mrs. Lehnsherr releases him and looks him up and down. “You’re going to eat a second portion, no arguments.”

“Mom,” says Erik warningly, picking up where she left off on the dishwasher.

“He’s so skinny!”

Charles flushes.

“Go wash up, both of you. God only knows how many bacteria infesting that mall this time of year.”

“She’s a nurse,” Erik whispers to Charles as they walk down the hall to the bathroom.

The walls are lined with various pictures of family and feature several of Erik, from his infancy to this year’s fall photo. Charles stops to get a closer look of a tiny Erik on an elementary school soccer team.

“Oh God, don’t look at those,” Erik mutters, yanking on Charles’ arm.

“You’re adorable. Look how big that soccer ball is to you!”

“Everything is adorable to you, isn’t it?”

“I’m in a good mood,” Charles says, allowing himself to be dragged.

A good mood that Erik Lehnsherr put him in. Funny how the universe works, sometimes.

“I’m sure my mother will regale you with more if you’re patient enough.”

After their hands are sufficiently clean, they set the table. Erik hands Charles a tiny stack of plates and a look that expects Charles to balk at doing something Erik probably imagines as servant’s work. But Charles passes them around the table happily and takes the bundle of forks out of Erik’s hand to continue the work.

Dinner consists of salad and cheesy garlic bread and a pot roughly the size of Charles’ torso of spaghetti. He digs in and passes Mrs. Lehnsherr’s goal by helping himself to three portions. Erik’s grandfather sits at the head of the table, as Erik’s father is working late this evening. Charles makes sure to compliment the quiet man on the florist shop and how well Erik did there. That sparked the man into a discussion of its history, one that had both Erik and his mother chiming in.

It shapes up to be one of the best dinners he’s ever had. Erik’s family is warm and kind and the love they have for each other lights the room. Mrs. Lehnsherr packs him three tubs of leftovers and refuses to take no for an answer. Erik walks him out to his car. Charles turns to thank him and finds a thick lump in his throat.

“Thank you, Erik,” he whispers.

“You’re welcome, I guess?” Erik jams his hands into his pockets. “It wasn’t a big deal. I had fun.”

“It was a big deal to me. This evening was – was –” Tears pick his eyes and Charles takes a deep breath. Thank God it’s dark out.

“Are you okay?” Erik asks. Of course he notices, probably trained himself to sniff out every one of Charles’ weaknesses long ago.

“I’m fine,” says Charles. “I’ll – I’ll see you at school. Thank you, again.” Charles waves and rushes into his car and speeds off to his empty house.

The next morning Erik calls him right after breakfast.

“I don’t give a fuck what your plans are,” he says without so much as a ‘good morning.’ “You’re coming over for Thanksgiving tomorrow. My mother’s orders and she’s not taking no for an answer and I highly suggest, out of personal fucking experience, not to test that.”

Charles laughs. “I wouldn’t dare. And I don’t have plans.”

“Yeah, I figured not,” Erik mutters and there’s something in his tone that Charles can’t quite pin down, but it warms him. “Well, that’s all I’ve got. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I would love to come to your house for dinner if it’s not an imposition.”

“It’s not. Mom is fucking insistent. She’s in love with your British manners and I haven’t heard the end of up since last night. I’ll pick you up at four tomorrow?”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Alright, see you then.”

“Wait!” Charles almost shouts. “Do you . . . do you want to come over for lunch? Maybe finish that chess game we abandoned?”

There is silence on the line, so much that Charles fears Erik has already hung up.

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

Erik stays straight through dinner, which was pizza that Charles called in, too embarrassed to have Mrs. Santiago cook something for him in front of Erik. They played several rounds of chess and ordered pay-per-view.

Not in a million years could Charles dream that they could spend more than half an hour without trying to murder each other, much less several hours. And yes, they argue somewhat over current events in the news, their differing opinions on literature and movies, but it’s more a real debate than their actual debates in class. A trade of ideas instead of a series of retaliating attacks. Perhaps their habit of watching tone and wording during school has bled over. Perhaps Erik is now a person to Charles and not just his rival.

 Their evening is only interrupted by a call from Mrs. Lehnsherr, who wanted to know if Erik will come home or spend the night.

“You could,” Charles says. “We have a guest room.” Three, in fact, but he doesn’t voice this aloud.

Erik looks a bit taken aback at this offer. Has Charles been so snotty in the past that common courtesy surprises Erik? “Maybe next time,” he says. “I gotta help out early tomorrow if we’re going to eat by four.”

“Good night then.”

“Good night, Charles.”

 

Thanksgiving with Erik’s family is pure joy. Tall, thin, and full of joy, Erik’s father is nothing like Charles pictured. He has the calloused hands of a working man, but his mind is utterly brilliant. They speak about architecture and sculpture and art. Erik’s parents are saving up money to visit the Louve in Paris. Erik must get his surliness from his grandfather, who, while not unfriendly, prefers silence than participating in conversation.

Erik helps his mother in the kitchen while Mr. Lehnsherr Jr. shows off the hand-carved wooden chessboard in the living room.

“This is breath-taking.” Charles gasps.

“Thank you. I carved it when Erik was five or so.”

“ _You_ made this? It should be in a museum.”

Mr. Lehnsherr beams, a wide smile that shows too many teeth. A familiar smile. He points to Erik’s grandfather.

“That man taught me everything I know. And I’m in the middle of teaching Erik.”

An image of Erik, leaning back against a tree, sliding a knife through a block of wood as easy as butter, arises in Charles’ mind. It fits.

Dinner is phenomenal, a mixture of classic American Thanksgiving with traditional Jewish foods. Erik’s family embrace American Thanksgiving with great enthusiasm.

“We have much to be thankful for,” Erik’s mother says. “The odds that this family has continued this way were not in our favor. We like to celebrate gratitude any chance we get.”

“I feel honored to be a part of it,” says Charles, smiling at Erik. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“I couldn’t have you alone on this day,” says Mrs. Lehnsherr with the same kind of fierce disapproval that Raven gets when Charles’ mother disappears again.

Erik looks down at his plate, pushing his food with his fork, and he looks uncomfortable. A stab of anger hits Charles. How dare Erik feel shame at the love in his family, at his history. Then Charles swallows that anger down because he’s done with jumping to the wrong conclusions about Erik. He rarely gives out personal details, keeps his distance even with his own friends. Perhaps Charles witnessing such intimacy is the cause of his discomfort.

Charles stays late, but returns home, even though Mrs. Lehnsherr insists that he stay the night. He remembers his offer to Erik that previous night, but this truce between them is too new and unpredictable. They’re not friends, they’re just not enemies.

Erik’s mother gives him a long, fierce hug goodbye and orders Erik to walk Charles out to his car.

“It’s disgusting how much they like you,” Erik says, glaring, though Charles knows enough now not to take it to heart. “You might as well change your name to fucking Charles Lehnsherr.”

Charles flushes, thoughts jumping straight to the other reason why he would have that name.

“It would be an honor,” Charles says instead. “They are wonderful people.”

Erik shrugs. “Trust me, they can drive a man crazy.”

Charles is reminded of that look on Erik’s face. Even though it might spark an argument, he can’t help himself. He takes a hold of Erik’s arm and locks eyes.

“I know you think that I’m spoiled and entitled and that I have never wanted for anything,” he says and Erik’s eyes go wide and uncertain and maybe even a little bit guilty. “And most of that is true, though we could argue about who is to blame for that. But trust me when I say that I would give _all_ that I own to have what you have.”

He expects Erik to get angry, to yank his arm back, to tell Charles to mind his own fucking business.

 “And what do I have?” Erik whispers instead.

“A house full of people who love you. You have a lot to be thankful for, Erik Lehnsherr. Try to remember that. And thank you for allowing me to experience a small piece of it.”

Erik only nods.  Charles squeezes his arm in affection and ducks inside his car.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

In his review mirror, Erik still stands in the driveway, watching him leave.


	3. Chapter 3

When they return to school, everything has changed. And nothing has changed. They are still lab partners, they are still run ragged by Raven after school for the play, they are still involved in the same circle of mutual friends.

But now, instead of avoiding outings where the other is present, they happily join Raven and Hank (and Alex and Sean and Darwin) for movies or late night runs to Taco Bell and the invitation to hang out at Charles’ house is always extended to Erik.

Now they often sit together at the movies or in the same booth at Taco Bell. Now they argue with smiles instead of bared teeth. Now he and Erik seclude themselves in a chess game while their friends throw popcorn at his big screen television.

The change creeped over them so gradually that Charles didn’t notice until it felt like it had grown overnight.

Sometimes he feels like the other shoe will drop any day, though.

 

“So,” says Raven, sidling up to him after English class. “You and Erik, huh?”

“Erik and I what?” Charles says.

“Dating! When the hell were you going to tell me?”

Charles throws his head back and laughs. “Oh my God, Raven, that’s insane! Erik doesn’t date or did you forget that humiliating crush you had on him in ninth grade?”

“I did, actually, thank you so much for bringing it up,” she mutters. “But seriously, you never argue anymore, you hang out all the time, you _went to his fucking house for Thanksgiving_. Tell me that’s not dating.”

“It’s not dating. We’re friends now, that’s all. You should be happy, all those times you said that Erik wasn’t so bad if I just gave him a chance. Now that he isn’t screaming at me every day, I can finally see what you’re talking about.”

“I am happy, but’s also stressful. Seeing you two hang out is like pulling a pin out of a grenade and praying it’s a dud.”

Charles smiles. “An accurate metaphor. But neither of us want an expulsion so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Raven is silent for a moment as they fight their way through the crush in the hallways. “You know,” she says finally as they near Charles’ next class. “You didn’t say anything about you not wanting to date Erik. Just that he didn’t date. Anything you want to share with the class.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Raven, it took the threat of expulsion for us to even have a civil conversation and that was only three months ago! Ease up, will you?”

With that, he ducks into Latin and leaves Raven shouting at him in the hallway.

“That still doesn’t answer my question!”

 

Second only to Charles, Raven is usually counted on as to social life of the party. In the three weeks after the break, this changes from out-going life-of-the-party to unrelenting task master.

She was bossy before. Now Erik calls her Stalin.

The lines have long since been memorized and the set completed, so she puts Erik and Charles in charge of maneuvering the set pieces in between scenes. They have to swap out backgrounds for each scene in less than sixty seconds and Raven spends a week of rehearsals timing them. She barely leaves them the time or energy to make fun of Emma’s robotic acting, but they snicker in between scenes regardless.

One Saturday Charles and Erik are moving one of the hanging backdrops. One end lists heavily to one side from a broken pulley. It takes Raven three seconds to spot it immediately and start shrieking.

“What the hell? What the hell happened, that worked fine five seconds ago! Opening night is _next week_.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” says Erik with an eye roll. “I’ll fix it. How about you go tell Emma that this isn’t a scifi and Glenda isn’t a fucking android.”

Charles snickers while Raven stomps off to stress about something else.

Erik climbs up on one of the notoriously rickety catwalks and inspects the broken pulley.

“Can you hold this up?” He calls down to Charles. “I need the slack.”

“Sure.” Charles grabs one end of the weighted rod at the bottom and holds it over his head.

In only a few seconds Erik has fixed the jam. Machines love Erik; they obey his every command. He finally levels it out when Alex jumps onto the catwalk with a roar. All month Alex and Erik have kept a running tally for who scares each other the most. Startled and losing his balance, Erik lets go of the pulley and the metal rod crashes back into Charles’ head.

He drops like a stone.

 Everything goes black for a moment. He comes to at the sound of Erik’s foul mouth and a thick pain in his forehead.

“Why the fucking _fuck_ did you think that was a great idea, you goddamn idiot?”

“Dude! I’m sorry. I didn’t know Charles was down there.”

“Your brain doesn’t work but your fucking eyes do, Summers! _Look_ next time you want to do something fucking stupid! You could have killed him. Now make your worthless ass useful get me a towel or something.”

Charles groans and places his hand on the tender spot on his head. It comes back wet. Erik kneels down in front of him, his green eyes wide with concern.

“What day is it?” he demands.

“It’s December the fifth,” moans Charles. “God, my head is killing me.”

Erik breathes out through his nose. A sigh of relief? “Come on, let’s get you down to one of the seats.”

Charles attempts to sit up, and a wave of nausea hits him. “Oh. No. Let’s stay here. This floor is so comfortable.”

“Come on. I’ll help you.”

Before Charles can protest, Erik takes his hand in a strong, calloused grip, his other arm wrapped around Charles’ back. He pulls Charles to his feet like he weighs nothing more than a bag of sugar and leads him down the steps.

“Oh my God, Charles, are you okay?” Raven hollers from the stage and in the same breath says, “Not the seats, Erik! He’ll bleed all over them!”

“They’re red. No one will tell the difference,” Erik barks back.

He eases Charles into one of the cushy auditorium seats. Alex appears half naked with a damp t-shirt.

“It was all I could find,” he says.

Erik snatches it out of his hand. “Whatever. Thanks. Go see if anyone has Tylenol or something.”

Charles’ head lolls on the back of the chair. He looks up at the tiled ceiling. Some of the tiles are crooked. How do they get that way? The ceiling is at least thirty feet high – who could possibly reach them?

His head hurts.

“Charles. Look at me.” Erik’s voice cuts through the ringing in his ears.

He brings his gaze down from the ceiling to find Erik so close, Charles can smell the type of soap he uses.

Erik cradles the clean side of Charles’ face in one long-fingered hand and dabs at the blood with his other hand. To Charles’s surprise, his ministrations are gentle and slow, almost a caress. Erik’s gotten in his face a hundred times over the last few years, but never like this. He didn’t know Erik was even capable of such tenderness.

“I can do this,” Charles whispers.

He doesn’t want Erik to stop, but they are still finding their footing with each other and Charles doesn’t want to lose this peace.

“Just hold still,” Erik murmurs, his voice more vibration than sound. “I got it.”

“Okay.”

It’s as if a spell has fallen over them. The chatter of his classmates fades into white noise and the only sound that matters is their breathing. Charles catalogs everything he’s never noticed before: the five faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, the ring of dark blue around his irises, the creases in his furrowed brow, how ridiculously long his eyelashes are.

Something unfurls in his chest. Something soft, and new, and different. And it’s not friendship.

If the world wasn’t so hazy, Charles might freak out about that now.

Erik takes special care around the actual cut, bringing his other hand up to comb Charles’ hair away.

“Your cut is small,” Erik murmurs. “The bruise on your head will hurt worse in a day or so.”

“I think I’ll live.”

The edges of Erik’s mouth quirk up, a rare smile.

“I’m going to check for signs of a concussion. Do you feel nauseated?”

“A little.”

“You already seem dazed, so I’ll check that off. Let me check your pupils.”

Erik leans in even closer, until his eyes fill Charles’ entire vision and their breath mingles. “They look a little dilated. Do you feel dizzy?”

“Yes,” Charles whispers and he wonders if there are, perhaps, other causes behind this.

“It sounds like you have, at the very least, a mild concussion. You’re going to need to see a doctor in the next twenty four hours.” Erik pulls pack and throws a filthy look at the stage. “Summers, that goddamn idiot.”

Charles tries a crooked smile. “You should be happy. This is revenge for the basketball.”

“I get my revenge for the basketball every time I beat you in chess.”

“Which doesn’t happen very often.”

“I see your memory’s jacked up. You should mention that to your doctor. Do you need a ride, by the way?”

Charles blinks. “I -- I can do it. I’ll get Raven or somebody. Don’t worry about it. You’ve helped me a lot already.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take any excuse to get a break from Stalin over there. I’ll even drive the speed limit.”

 “Then I suppose I will take you up on your offer,” Charles says.

“Good.” Erik slowly gets to his feet and then pulls Charles out of the seat in one fluid motion.

Before Charles lets go, he offers up a soft, “Thank you, Erik. For you all your help.”

Erik clears his throat. “Think nothing of it. Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

 

All three nights the play goes off without a hitch. That’s not to say that several crises didn’t bloom and then were systematically crushed before they could affect the performance. But the show garners a standing ovation all three nights and a huge bouquet awarded to Raven by the Lehnsherrs. Charles concussion slowly ebbs away, though Erik asks him the date and the president every morning and only once reacted with horror as he tells Charles that Mickey Mouse is their current president and that Charles needs to see the nurse immediately.

The after party gets a little out of control, mainly due to Raven and her ability to steamroll Hank into a submissive pancake. A fun evening with the cast, crew, and a stack of board games turns into a wild party with spiked punch and ended with a rousing game of spin the bottle with an empty Heinekin.

By then most people have either left or passed out somewhere. Thank God Hank’s research parents took a weekend trip to a conference in Anaheim.  All that’s remains is their usual crew:  Hank, Raven, Alex, Sean and Darwin, Charles, Emma, and Erik.  

With two girls and 6 guys, the results don’t pan out like they do on T.V. Sean goes first, his bottle landing on Raven. Long, long hours spent on stage together after-school has killed any awkwardness between then – and any real chance of them dating – but Raven grabs his lapels and pulls him close to her face like she’s about to lay a hell of a kiss on him. Sean stutters, horrified, and cranes his head back, but Raven has a grip like an iron vise and she hauls Sean’s face close enough to rub her nose against his.

“Psyche! Eskimo kiss,” she says, laughing at the horrified look on his face.

“You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!” But Sean cracks a smile, always good-natured.

Darwin’s bottle lands on Emma and she bestows a kiss on his forehead like a regal queen giving her bravest knight a sacred token of her affection. Darwin accepts it with equal solemnity  before smirking as he sits down. Everybody golf claps.

The first time Hank spins, his fingers slips and the bottle wobbles to a stop in front of himself. Laughing, he kisses the back of his own hand.

“No!” Raven shouts. “Doesn’t count! Do-over.”

Hank groans, but he twirls the bottle again. This time he flicks his wrist with the kind of coordination that gets him picked first in gym and the bottle spins like a helicopter. They all unconsciously lean in , tracking it’s tight spiral with their eyes. It takes forever for the bottle to finally coast to a lazy stop.

In front of Alex.

You could hear an audible gasp.

Though friends with the same crowd, friction always existed between them. They both ran on the track team and Alex constantly derided Hank’s science obsession while Hank consistently beat Alex’s record for the mile run. Occasionally they got into nasty spats that almost ruined the group outing, and yet they still associated with each other.

Not unlike Charles and Erik, when one thinks about it.

Hank looks up, cheeks flushed, eyes wide in horror. “We-we don’t have to – I mean, this is a childish game and I don’t –“

Alex rolls his eyes. “It’s a kiss, Hank. Don’t be such a fucking pussy.”

Raven punches him in the arm.

“Ow! Fuck! Sorry. Don’t be such a _wuss_.” He shucks off his leather jacket and tosses it aside. “Alright Bozo. Hope you’re ready for me.”

Hank gets half a second to prepare before Alex climbs into his lap and kisses him like a porn star, hands fisting in Hank’s unruly hair. The rest of the group watches in mute fascination, jaws open. The kiss lasts for several seconds– Charles swears he sees tongue. When Alex finally pulls away Hank’s glasses are fogged and his entire face is redder than a coke bottle.

“Dream on that, Bozo,” says Alex, sitting back down with a smug tilt to his lips that makes him look a bit like James Dean. “Alex Summers never disappoints. Not even pathetic nerds like you.”

Hank can’t even stutter a reply. Raven grins and slaps him on the back.

“So who’s next,” she asks.

Sean immediately points to Erik. “Don’t think that just because you’re quiet we forgot about you.”

Erik shrugs. “I don’t give a fuck. Hand me the bottle.”

As the bottle spins Charles tries to imagine each scenario. Raven would probably kiss him on the cheek or maybe bite his ear if she feels playful. Darwin might give Erik a peck on the lips to be cheeky while Emma might bestow another forehead kiss. Who knows what Sean would –

The bottle stops at him.

The entire group bursts into laughter.

“Oh shit!” Raven cackles.

For the first millisecond, Charles’ mind blanks. Nothing.

And then he remembers Alex’s kiss. He imagines himself crawling into Erik’s lab, running his fingers through that thick auburn hair, licking those lips so they can no longer smirk at him. He wonders how Erik tastes, if those lips are chapped or smooth. In this moment he aches for that kiss. It feels like a culmination. It feels like destiny. 

He crawls over to Erik and finds the boy’s devil-may-care attitude has disappeared. Erik’s face is stone, that antagonistic spark gone from his eyes. They seem  almost – afraid? His body stills like a deer in the brush, the only movement the erratic rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t bite, Erik,” Charles whispers.

That spark flares to life and Charles nearly breathes a sigh of relief – or is it anticipation? – as Erik surges forwards, hissing, “I’m not _afraid_ ,” before pressing his lips hard against Charles.

It’s not the best kiss Charles ever had. Erik is hard and unyielding and pissed off and it feels like kissing stone.

And it feels like electrocution.

Charles breaks the kiss, pushing Erik’s shoulders away. His heart beats like thunder and Erik looks just as wide-eyed and off balanced as Charles feels.

What the hell was that?

Alex cackling snaps Charles’ attention back.

“Holy shit please tell me someone got pictures!”

Erik pushes Charles off his lap, glaring at everyone else over Charles’ shoulder.

“If anyone did, I’ll fucking murder you.”

“And I’ll sue you into such poverty, I’ll make you wish you were dead,” adds Charles, standing up and brushing off dust from his elbows.

“Alright, alright,” mutters Raven. “Back to your corners before you ruin the game.”

“Actually, I think I need to rinse my mouth out,” Erik mutters, getting to his feet.

Charles rolls his eyes. “That was barely even a kiss!”

But Erik is walking towards the bathroom. Raven and Charles exchange exasperated expressions before she snatches up the bottle.

“Who wants to play cards against humanity?”

 

Erik spends the rest of the evening killing everyone at beer pong and acting his general cocky, annoying, asshole self.

Except he doesn’t look at Charles.

And he is the first one to leave.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the kissing happens ;)

Just as Charles fears, that night throws off their newly minted friendship. As if they had rewound time, their easy comradery vanishes, replaced with stiff conversation and frown lines and hard stares that Charles never wanted to see again.

But they don’t fall back into their old arguments. Erik still sits with him when they go out, he still comes over for chess and invites Charles over for dinner.

Is he angry or does he still want their friendship? Charles can’t make heads or tails of it. He tries giving Erik space. Perhaps that the stress of finals might be a contributing factor. But the awkwardness continues through Christmas Break, even though Erik still comes over, and finally, four days in, Charles snaps.

“Alright, fess up,” he says over the chessboard. “What’s wrong with you?”

“A lot of things, according to you,” Erik retorts.

“Yes! And one of them being how weird you’ve been acting since the cast party!”

“I’m not acting weird,” Erik says, but his eyes linger on a chess piece and refuse to look up.

“You are so,” says Charles, softer. “It’s one thing to snipe and bicker with each other, but you’re acting like you hate me again, like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me. And if it’s over something as stupidly pathetic as that kiss, then you need to get over it. It barely qualified as such anyway. You can keep your hetero card.”

Erik’s eyes snap up from the board. “ _Barely qualifies?_ ”

“Yes,” says Charles, crossing his arms. God help him, but every time he sees that glitter of outrage in Erik’s eyes, he has to respond in kind. It’s practically Pavlovian. “It was like kissing a statue. Do you not know what real kissing feels like?”

Erik shoves his chair back and stands up. The fury in his eyes is unlike anything Charles has seen from him. It’s not just his usual outrage or irritation at their difference in opinions or lifestyles. Even in the heat of their most terrible arguments, Charles never saw such a wild edge in Erik, like he’s moments away from snapping and doing – Charles doesn’t know. It’s a little terrifying.

It’s also darkly thrilling.

(Perhaps this is why Charles can’t stop antagonizing him. What will happen when Erik loses control?)

“Are you going to run away to the bathroom again?” Charles taunts and part of him wants to kick himself and the other part wants to see Erik lose it. “You preach about intolerance and yet you can’t handle a peck on the lips by another b-“

Erik shoves over the chessboard and stalks over the scattered pieces to dig his fingers into the front of Charles’ shirt. With shocking strength, he drags Charles, stumbling, out of the chair. Charles scrabbles for purchase, for balance, hands gripping Erik’s shoulders.

“Erik, what are you doing?”

“You want to know what a _real_ kiss feels like,” he growls, pushing Charles against the wall beside them. His breath hot against Charles’ lips, the length of his body a warm, unyielding wall against Charles. “You want to know what’s _wrong_ with me?”

Charles isn’t afraid, not just yet, though he’s edging on that precipice. This argument has taken a sharp turn into the unknown for they’ve never laid hands on each other, no matter how worked up they get. He doesn’t think Erik would hurt him, but he’s also never pushed Erik this far and it’s never gotten this personal and he’s never seen that wild edge in Erik’s eyes –

And he’s never felt Erik’s mouth on him like this, hot and sudden and savage. Charles goes slack in surprise. This is nothing like their last kiss, awkward and cold and unyielding. Erik kisses like a man starving, angry and desperate and Charles surges into it, back lifting from the wall. Erik’s hands travel up to grip the back of Charles’ neck and down to dig into his hip and he shoves Charles right back into that wall with a growl as if Charles was trying to leave.

Need, sudden and burning, flares in him like a gasoline on a fire. Charles moans and shudders against Erik’s bruising hold on him, slipping his tongue between Erik’s sudden parted lips and plundering his mouth. His hands drag down the hard line of Erik’s body, hungry for every inch of him, slipping under Erik’s henley to skim his nails across the smooth skin of his back. A groan, heavy and low, rumbles from Erik’s throat. It tears the ragged edge of Charles’s control and he bucks his hips up to grind against Erik until he gasps at the pleasure that jolts through him.

He doesn’t know what he wants only that he wants it so much he could die from it, dark obscene things he’s not sure he’s ready for and yet the way Erik gasps in his mouth drives all good sense from his mind. Charles slides his fingers down Erik’s stomach, feeling his abdomen shudder in the wake of Charles’ touch, past the hem of his shirt and dives past the band of his jeans –

Erik grabs his wrist and slams it into the wall, his fingers like iron bands, and he jerks his mouth away from Charles. His eyes are positively feral and he breathes like he nearly drowned and Charles found himself paralyzed under the weight of such a gaze.

“What did you do to me?” he whispers fiercely against Charles’ lips. “You’re _killing me.”_

Erik doesn’t wait for Charles to push through the lust-stupid fog of his mind to find an answer. He pushes away from Charles and practically runs from the room, leaving Charles to slump down the wall and press his face into his knees.

 _I think I broke him_.

 

Charles paces in that house for two days. Every time he tries to catch up on his light reading (Plato and _Dante’s Inferno_ ) memories flare up of Erik’s lips, the way he tastes, his full body shudder when Charles dug his fingernails into that perfect, unbroken skin and his concentration shatters. An echo of that shaking need returns, but guilt flares bright enough to drown it out.

_What did you do to me?_

Erik had sounded so lost, almost betrayed. Charles hates what that sentence could mean. Yes, Erik absolutely started it, and he did so in a way that should have been frankly terrifying. But Charles is the one who escalated it to a level neither of them were ready for (not to mention borderline illegal).

He knew Erik never dated, and had probably never kissed anyone before, and Charles had taken what could have been a short and embarrassing kiss to outright molestation! No wonder Erik freaked out.

Six months ago he might have patted himself on the back to have thrown the unshakable Erik Lehnsherr. But the last few weeks has transformed Erik from calloused irritant to a potential friend and ally. The thought that Charles might have destroyed their fragile peace makes him cradle his head in his hands. After the last few weeks of friendship, he doesn’t want bitterness anymore.

He has to fix this, but how? And would Erik even want to look at him? Would it be best to leave his friend alone, in peace?

If Erik wanted nothing to do with him, then Charles would go along with it without question. But he couldn’t before at least giving Erik his most sincere apology. He deserved that and Charles can’t bear to have Erik go back to thinking the worst of him.

Monday morning blooms dark and threatening a storm.  Charles swung by Erik’s favorite coffee shop, scoring two devil’s food cake donuts and the mocha latte Erik always ordered. Then he took the gifts (bribes) to Erik’s grandparent’s florist shop. Peeking in the window, he saw Erik back behind the counter, cutting the stems of golden colored roses and placing them in vases of water. The shop is otherwise empty, thank God.

The bell rings as Charles opens the door and Erik looks up from his task and freezes.

More memories come up, unbidden, and Charles flushes as he sets down the coffee and donuts.

“Good morning,” he says quietly.

Erik looks at him warily. “Good morning.”

“I’ve brought you something.”

“I can see that,” Erik says, but he makes no move to take them.

Charles swallows, fighting off the sting of tears. He rehearsed this, goddamn it. “Erik, I – I want to apologize. For that night. I pushed things too far, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to speak to me ever again, but know that I regret that I upset you so much.”

If anything Charles said affected Erik, he does not show it. The sheers hang limply from Erik’s hand as he stares at Charles, almost as if he’s forgotten English. After a long, tense moment of silence, Charles gives up and leaves the shop with one last wave.

It will have to do, he tells himself, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. It will have to do.

 

That afternoon someone beats on the front door. Charles can hear it echo even in the library. He pads his way downstairs with wariness, being the only person home.

To his shock, Erik stands impatiently on the front porch, bunched against the door to avoid the rain pounding steadily off the roof.

“I’m getting soaked out here!” he says, looking like a cat caught in the shower.

Charles swings the door open wider and lets Erik barge his way in, dripping on the stone.

“Let me get you a towel.” Charles says before scurrying off to one of the bottom floor bathrooms.

When he returns, Erik snatches the towel out of Charles’ hands and scrubs it over his face and hair. Charles stands there utterly mystified by Erik’s appearance and trying very hard not to hope.

“Would you – would you like to sit down somewhere? Are you thirsty?”

Erik stares at Charles that same way earlier in the shop, uncomprehendingly. “What is wrong with you?”

He has posed that question so many times in the last few years, but never in such a flat, casual, almost affectionate way.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, see that’s the problem,” Erik continues. “Maybe I’ve got it wrong, but I distinctly remember shoving the chess table over and slamming you into the wall before I basically attacked your face. But _you’re_ the one turning up at work with coffee and donuts and telling me you’re sorry. I don’t get it.”

“You weren’t the only one doing . . .face attacking,” says Charles delicately. “I provoked you and then on top of that I took it way too far when I knew you weren’t experienced and --”

“Stop,” Erik says, holding out a hand and wincing. “Stop right there, my Ego’s been hit enough as it is without you carrying on like I’m some kind of blushing virgin.”

Charles’ mouth falls open. “You’re – you mean you’re _not_?”

“Oh I am,” says Erik easily. “Just not the blushing kind.”

“Oh.”

“So, just to be clear, you’re not angry at me for shoving you into a wall and kissing you,” Erik says.

“As long as you’re not angry with me that I kissed you back and tried to shoved my hand down your pants.”

“I’m not.”

He grins at Charles and his easy demeanor doesn’t match with the feral anger of Friday or the stone-faced looks of this morning and Charles wants to believe they can go right back to the way they were

“You said – you said I was killing you,” Charles says. “You asked me what I was doing to you. And you ran away from me. You _were_ angry. I don’t understand what happened.”

All at once Erik’s smile drops and he looks away, jaw clenching. Charles waits him out because Erik will either confess something clearly embarrassing or he will walk out without another word, as he is so good at doing.

“You know that feeling when you see someone hot,” Erik says finally, “and you get the butterflies and you think about it would feel to touch them and you can’t stop thinking about them until it drives you crazy?”

“Yes,” says Charles slowly. Where on earth is this going?

“I don’t get that feeling. I can see that people are attractive but I don’t care to do anything about it.” Erik swallows. “Until you. Until I kissed you at that stupid game and then it felt like I was fucking possessed.”

Charles’ jaw falls open. “You’re attracted to me?”

“I guess?” Erik blushes, he actually blushes, a light dusting of pink across his nose and cheekbones. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt it before. But then you kept talking about it and taunting me and so I lost it.”

Charles is speechless, well and truly speechless, and that has never happened before with Erik. Meanwhile Erik still can’t look at him and he runs a hand through his still-damp hair.

“Look, you’re been a gigantic pain in my fucking ass for four years. And I used to kind of wish you would get hit by a bus one day and I would never have to look at your smug fucking face ever again. But then – I don’t know – this semester changed things. I learned you were more than just a spoiled naïve idiot and I . . .I like what we have now. I don’t want a stupid kiss and weird feelings to fuck it all up.”

Erik finally looks up at him and he’s more uncertain than Charles has ever seen him.

“It won’t,” he promises Erik. “I like what we have, too. It’s good to see you be more than a calloused, arrogant bastard.”

This causes Erik to grin and Charles loves the way it lights up his eyes.

 

Things do return to the new normal. Several times Charles wants to tease Erik about his attraction, but thinks better of it. Erik should have the opportunity to work through something obviously new and uncomfortable for him in relative peace and Charles respects that.

But Charles doesn’t stop thinking about it. As their fierce and brutal kiss suggested, he is wildly attracted to Erik. Remembering the way his blood sang and his heartbeat thrummed and the intensity of his gaze during their arguments, perhaps he’d always been attracted to Erik.

And of course people can be attracted to each other and not date. It can even happen between friends. Even best friends (and it’s so strange to think of Erik as his best friend, and yet something warm cracks open in him when he does).

But his conversation with Raven so many weeks ago comes back to haunt him.

 _You never argue. You hang out all the time. Tell me that’s not dating_.

 _Erik doesn’t date or did you forget that humiliating crush you had in ninth grade_?

Erik doesn’t date and yet the only difference between what they do now and dating is that dating has a lot more kissing in it.

 Charles starts ticking off the couple-y things they do so far:

  1. See movies together and take turns buying each other’s tickets.
  2. Go out to dinner after said movie and argue about the movie’s good and bad points
  3. Erik allows himself to be dragged to various museum exhibits as they open
  4. They helped each other get dressed for the Valentines Dance a couple weeks ago and showed up together to the many teasing jokes of their friends.
  5. Every time they watch movies or television shows on Charles’ couch, they migrate closer and closer together.



Tonight they are watching _Breaking Bad_ and Charles has cheekily stretched his legs out over Erik’s lap, and Erik has grudgingly accommodated it. Even though he loves this show and can’t wait to infect Erik wit it, this particular night he can only focus on the glow of the tv on Erik’s face, the shadows under his cheekbones, the way his eyes glow green. Erik’s hand lightly grips Charles’ calf almost subconsciously and the heat of it seeps through his jeans.

Every so often, Charles will catch Erik looking at him.

“What are you staring at,” Erik finally asks.

“What are _you_ staring at?” Charles retorts.

“I’m _trying_ to watch this show. You know, the one you suggested in the first place?”

If kissing is the only thing that separates this from dating, then Charles needs to switch it up a bit.

He grabs the remote and pauses the show.

“What the hell!” Erik cries.

Ignoring his indignation, Charles retracts his legs from Erik’s lap only so he crawl over Erik and swing them on either side of his knees.

Erik breathes in sharply, but his hands fall lightly on Charles’ hips.

His eyes are a mesmerizing swirl of blue and green and the lack of fear in them bolster’s Charles’ courage.

“If I go very slow and stop when you tell me to,” he whispers, drawing a finger down the side of Erik’s cheek, “may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Erik answers, practically before Charles can finish his question.

Charles ducks down and presses a soft kiss to Erik’s forehead, then on the tops of his sharp, beautiful cheekbones, and then the corner of his perfect, infuriating mouth. Erik inhales sharply, his fingers tightening into Charles’ hips. Trying to hide his smirk, Charles hovers over Erik’s lips, his own just barely ghosting over them, tormenting his friend for a long moment before finally closing that last half inch and kissing him with all the sweetness he can muster.

Erik’s lips are slightly chapped, but still soft and oh so pliant. For once, Erik must yield to Charles’ expertise, and the thought of how much that must rankle him makes Charles smile inwardly.

 As promised, Charles goes slow, giving Erik lingering, closed mouth kisses even though he longs nothing more than to grip the back of Erik’s hair and shove his down his friend’s throat. At first, Erik sits still as stone, pressing back hesitantly, his hands never straying from their light hold on Charles’ hips. Then one of his hands skate up the length of Charles’ back to cup the back of his head and all of a sudden Erik is kissing him thoroughly, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of Charles’ mouth

Charles jerks back, heart pounding, and looks at Erik in mild surprise. Erik grins back, that cocky smirk that has always made Charles want to shake him or punch him; anything, really to wipe that arrogance off his face. Even though Charles promised him slow, he can’t have Erik thinking he’s mastered the art of kissing after a few minutes of ‘s chaste canoodling.

Ducking his head, Charles brushes his lips up Erik feather-light along the line of his jaw and then nips at Erik’s earlobe.

If he could frame sound, he would put that hitching gasp Erik makes in gold and hang it on the wall above his headboard.

“Alright?” Charles murmurs in his friend’s ear, and Erik nods jerkily. “Good.”

His tongue darts out to trace the shell of Erik’s ear, collecting another small gasp, before trailing tiny kisses down the column of Erik’s throat, taking the time to linger of Erik’s pulse, which beats erratically under his lips. And then, just when Erik has relaxed enough to lean into Charles’ ministrations, he bites down lightly on the juncture of Erik’s throat and shoulder and _sucks_.

If those gasps deserve gilded framing, Erik’s moan, and the shiver that accompanies it, should be placed in a _museum_.

Charles pulls back to study Erik, taking in his friend’s blown pupils and flushed cheeks and thudding pulse.

“Too much?” he asks.

“No,” Erik whispers. “ . . .can we lay down?”

Charles smiles. “Sure.”

Erik takes hold of Charles’ hips again and leans them slowly down along the length of the couch. Charles slots himself in between Erik’s legs, his chest a solid, comforting weight beneath Charles. Erik lays with one arm behind his head and the other threading its fingers through Charles’ hair, his thumb brushing against the shell of Charles’ ear in ways that make his breath catch.

This time when Charles leans down to kiss him, he slips his tongue into Erik’s mouth. Erik groans immediately and Charles is finding it very difficult to pretend to be unaffected himself. Erik’s mouth is hot and he tastes of soda and Charles hums when Erik tongue slides against his. His fingers play with the hem of Erik’s shirt, occasionally brushing against warm, smooth skin just above the belt buckle and Erik’s stomach shivers every time.

They trade languid kisses until their lips are swollen and Charles’ heart thuds heavy in his chest. Eventually they slow to a stop and Charles lays his head on Erik’s chest and breathes in deep and slow to calm the fire of arousal that’s been so lovingly cultivated for the last hour. Though the heady smell of Erik’s cologne and the lazy strokes of his hand on Charles’ back is not helping matters.

“Was that alright?” Charles asks.

“That was the best hour of my life,” Erik breathes. “God, if that’s what everyone feels all the time, no wonder you’re all so obsessed with sex.”

Charles laughs in Erik’s shirt. He feels oddly proud of himself.

“It gets better,” he promises.

“Maybe next time,” says Erik and Charles’ heart flutters at the thought.

“Erik?” he murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“You should date me.”

The hand on Charles’ back lurches to a stop. Charles can hear the sound of Erik’s heart speed up under his ear. His own heart responds in kind because this conversation can go two ways: spectacular or horrifying, with no in between.

“ _What?_ ”

“Well don’t sound so offended,” Charles huffs. “I’m quite the catch, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m not offended, I’m just . . .I don’t date anyone. I don’t want to date anyone.”

“We’re practically dating as it is,” Charles points out. “Or do you do this with all your friends?”

 “Oh really?” Charles can hear the skeptical eyebrow raise. “How is that?”

“Well we hang out all the time. We go see movies and eat dinner and sit near each other when we’re with our friends and now we’re making out. Which is brilliant, by the way, and I would like to continue.” He draws molecule patterns on Erik’s chest with the tip of his finger, unable to look Erik in the eye. “I know this is all new for you, but I don’t think I could handle being just friends with benefits. I never _ever_ thought I would say this, but I like you, Erik. I like you quite a lot. And I think . . .you like me too, you just haven’t realized it yet.”

Erik is silent for a long moment. Charles focuses on the chemical composition for caffeine and not on the fact that he might have just destroyed their easy peace more thoroughly than Erik’s angry kiss ever could.

“I’ve never really had a relationship before,” Erik says finally. “I might suck at it and piss you off.”

“You’ve pissed me off nearly every day for four years and I’m still here,” Charles points out. “And, like I said earlier, we’re practically already in one. Being my boyfriend wouldn’t be any different than what we’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You just wouldn’t be doing it with anyone else.”

“I wouldn’t do this with anyone else regardless,” says Erik and Charles smiles. “I suppose you make a good point. I concede.”

Charles hums happily and lifts himself to kiss Erik, long and slow and just this side of filthy.

“I definitely concede if it gets me more of that,” Erik whispers.


	5. Chapter 5

Principal McTaggart’s desk does not look any different than the last time Charles was hauled to it in September. A neat row of pictures guard the edge of the desk, facing away from the chairs.

Even though nothing bad has happened between him and Erik, Charles can’t help but feel nervous. He could recover if he got expelled in the last semester of his senior year; his grades and his money would open up more than enough doors and he could still get into Harvard or Oxford like he planned.

But Erik would be screwed. And Charles has seen enough of his dreams to know how much Erik hides what little optimism he has and how fragile that hope is. He couldn’t bear to see it destroyed. Even now, Erik stares resolutely at the wall behind McTaggart’s desk, jaw clenched in a way that Charles used to think was arrogance and now knows is a fierce guard against his emotions.

“No need to look so forlorn,” says McTaggart as she straightens a crooked stack of papers. “You boys have kept your end of the bargain.” Her eyes narrowed. “Actually, you’ve both gone above and beyond the parameters of our bargain, if the rumor mill is true.”

Charles feels his cheeks heat up and he sees the barest hint of a flush in the tips of Erik’s ears.

“But I couldn’t care less what you kids are up to as long as you follow school procedures,” McTaggart continues, “and as far as I’m concerned you both have. I’ve spoken with Mr. Kostner; you’ve been readmitted to the debate team. But our rule about fighting still stands, though I suspect I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Erik looks over at Charles.

“Actually,” Charles says, “we won’t be joining the debate team this semester.”

McTaggart’s eyebrows jump up. “Oh?”

“We thought it best to . . .avoid temptation,” says Charles.

As the Christmas holidays hurtled to a close, he and Erik talked extensively about the debate team. They both agreed that it had too many bad memories for them and neither one of them wanted to risk their new and fragile relationship.

“Instead we want to work on the spring play,” says Erik. “With Raven.”

He glares at McTaggart as if daring her to protest.

“Well, of course you can,” she says. “I’m a little surprised, but I don’t see any problem with that. Though you will need to inform Mr. Kostner, of course. I must say,” she adds with a smile. “I’m proud of the two of you, working out your differences so well.”

“Thank you,” says Charles, though he can see Erik fight an eye roll.

“The spring play is going to be Beauty and the Beast, so I’m sure you’ll both enjoy that.”

This time Erik can’t fight the eye-roll or the groan that accompanies it.

 

Erik shoves an envelope into Charles’ chest. It’s a beautiful day in early May and Charles packed a picnic lunch for the park and told Erik to meet him by the chess tables.

Charles looks down at the crumpled envelope and his heart leaps when he catches sight of the M.I.T. logo in the corner.

“Oh my God, Erik,” he breathes.

“I can’t read it,” Erik says. “I can’t even open it.”

He looks pale and shaken and Charles knows how many of his wildest dreams are riding on the contents of this letter.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you can. You have to!”

Erik shakes his head vehemently. “You do it. You helped me apply.”

“You’re a shoe-in, Erik. They can’t deny you.”

“They absolutely _can_ ,” Erik snaps and Charles rips open the envelope before Erik can dive into whatever rant he’s got for why Charles never has to face rejection because of his wealth.

He unfolds the letter and skims so quickly that he doesn’t comprehend the words and forces himself to re-read the top paragraph.

“Did I get in or not?” Erik cries. “Why are you so quiet? What’s the hold up?”

“Sorry,” says Charles slowly, “I’m just calculating the distance between M.I.T. and Harvard so we can visit each other.”

Erik looks at him, stone-faced. “I got in?”

“You got in,” Charles says, a grin breaking his face wide open.

He expects a similar expression to bloom on Erik’s face. Instead his friend takes the letter with shaking fingers and then sinks down to the ground, face buried in his knees.

Oh God, is he broken?

“Erik!” Charles sinks down next to him, hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. “What’s the matter? Really the distance isn’t that far, we’ll see each other all the time –”

Without lifting his head up, Erik shoves Charles hard enough with one hand to knock him off balance.

“This is not about you, you self-centered twat,” Erik snaps and Charles breathes a sigh of relief because that’s familiar.

Erik keeps his face buried and Charles hears a sniffle and _oh._

Erik is crying. Of course he doesn’t want Charles to notice and the urge to tease Erik rises almost uncontrollably but Charles squashes it down. This letter is the culmination of Erik’s dreams and goals and the start of his life and Charles allows his cynic boyfriend this moment of knowing that the universe can align itself into something _right_ for once.

After a few minutes Erik takes a deep, shuddering breath and lifts his head up. Charles bestows a daisy chain made of clover onto his head and beams at him.

“Of course you got in, Erik. There was never any doubt.”

“There was plenty from me.”

“Never from me.”

Erik’s face gifts him with a rare, beautiful smile.  He cups Charles’ face and kisses him sweetly on his mouth.

“It’s an eight-minute drive to Harvard from M.I.T.” he whispers against Charles’ lips. “We’re practically neighbors.”

Charles smiles, eyes still closed. “You were already planning? That took some optimism.”

“You tend to rub off on people,” Erik huffs. “It’s annoying. But I’m glad you’re with me.”

It will take a lot longer than a few months to get Erik to say “I love you” even though he says it in a hundred other ways.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” Charles replies.

 _I love you too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So even though I love this fic, I didn't get to fit in all the rivalry goodness I so enjoy so there might be sequels/prequels/missing scenes. Be on the lookout!


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